"Have you got a cigarette?"
she asked through purple lips.
well oiled skin in a purple evening dress
reflected a village dawn. Weary innocent
in the Gansevoort? Lambs and calves move by
in quarters and halves; meat market to the city.
White coated butchers and high heeled women
"Sorry, I don't smoke. I'm out for a run."

"Too bad. I could use a little something."
A hard night for a narrow waist under
cleavage,broad rather than deep.
"What's a nice girl like you doing in a..."
formed in my throat. Her charcoal eyes
suggested the likelihood of a rough answer.
Headless animals hang in blind witness.
Primal stuff where night meets dawn.

The calves caught me. Those under her knees,
not on the hooks. Muscular. Thick ankles.
Silver lamé spikes fail to disguise
a man at work. Butcher, baker, candlestick...
"What's a nice boy like you..." might earn a
"Smart-ass mutha..." reply.
"My name is Crystal. Wanna cup of coffee."
A good salesman,even in an evening dress, never gives up

He parted her dress with runway drama.
"Best of both wrapped up in one"
I smiled in recognition of a workman and his job.
Crystal in the night. Butchers all in white.
Lambs and calves.
Night people. Day people.
Got to move the meat.
Its the district.